


ignorance is bliss

by reylofics



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Closeted Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Season/Series 03 Fix-It, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Starting Over, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylofics/pseuds/reylofics
Summary: billy hargrove wakes up in steve harrington's room after the "starcourt incident", not sure how or why he's there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i deadass just typed this all out in an hour because why not

"Jesus fucking Christ," shouts Billy.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, his dirty hair sticking to the small beads of moisture that cling to his back as he sits up in a wild state of confusion in a place that isn't his own. The words roll off of his tongue in an unfamiliar fashion, tainting his mouth as the three blasphemous exclamations explode into nothing. Right away, Billy can tell he isn't at home. It's not Starcourt either. With all the idle time he had on his hands after school earlier in the year, Billy is confident in the fact that he knows Starcourt Mall better than he knows the back of his own hand by now. And wherever he's at, it's nothing like Starcourt. Plus, there's no beds at Starcourt.

"You look like you just came back from basketball practice, not back from a war," comes a timidly arrogant voice from the corner of the room.

The voice startles Billy Hargrove for two reasons. One reason being the fact that he doesn't like the way the voice refers to the Starcourt incident as a "war". The second being that Billy would recognize that stuck-up voice anywhere. Even if he was in the middle of fucking Alaska, Billy knows that he would recognize Steve Harrington's voice anywhere. 

"You make it sound like I'm a fucking veteran, Princess," Billy throws back casually.

Billy really hopes that no one else is here--Harrington's house. At least, he assumes it belongs to Harrington. And, not that he cares, but he would rather not have his little sister and her group of friends see him like this. It's unexplainable but maybe, with everything that just happened, Billy doesn't want to cause any more pain than he's already caused to Maxine and her friends. Though, he doesn't even know the full extent of what he's done yet.

"You are," whispers Harrington into the darkness, still not coming out of the shadows to face his former nemesis.

"I'm what?" asks Billy like it isn't already fucking obvious. He's a let down is what he is. A fucking disappointment. 

Harrington immediately replies, almost shyly in the way he presents himself as he steps out of the shadows. "A veteran."

Oh. He would look menacing if he wasn't so short. And, okay, so maybe Billy's noticed that Harrington's one or two inches taller than him when he's not wearing his black platform boots, standing right beside him in the shower. But it doesn't mean anything. Harrington's short but Billy's not. There's no logic behind it, it just is what it is.

The not-short boy hops off the bed, expecting to be warmly greeted by the ground below. Instead, his bare feet hit the ground with a startling impact and Billy instantly doubles over, clutching his sides with an aching pain. For the first time since waking up, he looks down. His only nice pair of jeans are ruined, completely covered with dirt and other undistinguishable stains. His white tank top is a whole different story. For one, it's not white anymore.

"What the fuck?" exclaims Billy, gesturing to his shirt like it's the most important thing in the world as he staggers face first onto the ground.

Harrington immediately runs forward to scoop up Billy in his arms like he does this every day for a living. What a fucking saint. Then, because he's Harrington, he reaches down and prods at Billy's bandages on both sides with nosy fingers. Billy hisses in return like a dying cat, feeling the pain of Harrington literally tearing him apart with his fingers. If this was any other situation, Billy would start getting hard at the thought of Harrington tearing him apart with his fingers.

Except, right now, Billy isn't appreciating the thought too much. The only thing getting hard is his patience for Steve Harrington. Even Harrington can sense this, pulling his fingers back in a hasty retreat and mumbling a thousand flimsy apologies that Billy isn't even hearing.

"What the hell happened?" Billy grits through closely knitted teeth.

"Nothing you need to know about."

Billy almost starts screaming at Harrington and choking him. But he's not his father. So he gulps, thinking of a nicer way to rephrase the question.

"Pretty boy, I would really appreciate it if you could tell me what happened because the Antichrist was kickass at taking over my body but he wasn't too great of a friend, you know? So I have no fucking idea what happened." The last sentence comes out a bit harshly but, still, Billy figures the least Harrington can do is explain everything.

"Th-the Antichrist?" sputters Harrington like it's really such an inane thing for Billy to be suggesting. Billy almost expects him to start laughing but he doesn't. "I'm sorry," Harrington settles on saying, which is somehow even worse. "I just can't tell you."

The worst part about it all is that Harrington actually looks sorry for Billy. Or maybe he just looks that way because Billy's the damsel in distress that he's daintily holding in his arms. Either way, it's the only time Billy's seen Harrington look at him this way, big puppy dog eyes and everything. He didn't even look this way when he beat the living shit out of him.

Really, Billy should be questioning it more but his sides hurt too much for him to start diverting his attention elsewhere. Awkwardly, Billy gestures to the comfy bed behind him with his head. It takes a second but Harrington finally gets the memo, snapping out of his puppy dog phase to help Billy up and back to the bed. His nose furrows up in determination, almost forcing a smile out of Billy at the sight. Just as suddenly as the corners of his mouth start to turn up though, the aching pains return as soon as he's up and hobbling back to the bed.

Billy usually lives by the saying that ignorance is bliss, especially when explaining why he never asks about Max and her friends. Right now, he's starting to regret choosing that mantra. He wants nothing more than to know what so easily sliced his sides like he was just some sort of ingredient being used to spice up a plain recipe. And just like a vegetable, Billy easily falls back onto the bed, hating how much he enjoys the comfort of the soft mattress supporting his back.

Harrington slides his hand away, no longer needing to grip Billy's arm for support. Oddly enough, Billy already misses the feeling of Harrington's hand resting on his cold flesh, finally bringing some desperately needed thermal energy to his body. Harrington would never know that though.

Needless to say, Billy's surprised when Harrington leans down to curl up next to Billy like the old cat he used to have when he was little and everything was perfect--back before his dad started hitting him, back before Mom died. Billy doesn't want to say anything, knowing anything he says will come out sounding mean as part of his defense mechanism, but he has to. After all, Harrington is acting like it's fucking normal to start sleeping with his enemy. And, yeah, Billy wouldn't mind if Harrington started sleeping with him in other ways but that's not the point. Not at all.

So Billy decides on saying, "What the hell, Harrington?", hoping that the point comes across. 

It does. Harrington's eyes snap open as he turns to face Billy nervously.

"Sorry, it's just that--I don't know, I--You were screaming earlier," Harrington explains in a slew of words. "And, well, like, Nancy used to have nightmares too and this helped...," trails off Harrington.

Billy stiffens up at the mention of Harrington's ex, the Wheeler chick. He doesn't even realize that he's done it at first until Harrington's reaction to Billy's reaction finally registers in his mind, because any little movement in the bed is noticeable. 

"I'm not Nancy, pretty boy," spits Billy, hating the way her name flies off his tongue. It makes him want to vomit.

"Yeah, I know," apologizes Harrington. "I know, Billy. I just thought it would help."

Something about the way Harrington speaks, so soft and innocently almost makes Billy want to confess his feelings right then and there. He's sure that Steve Harrington is the only one who can say his name like that without making Billy want to shove his head into a locker.

"Yeah," says Billy. 

Then, because he knows Harrington's slow and won't register that that's an invitation to sleep with him instead of awkwardly watching him in the doorway like he was earlier, Billy scoots closer to Harrington. Billy simultaneously hates and loves the smug grin on his own face when Steve snuggles back into him like he's the one having nightmares, not Billy. He catches a whiff of Steve's cologne, a scent he knows all too well by now and Billy loves the way it intoxicates him like his own personal drug.

Billy Hargrove has no fucking idea how he got here or why he's even here in the first place. All he knows is that, for a few hours, he's willing to ignore the raging questions in his mind and just sleep, here with Harrington. Not long ago, talking to Harrington without another black eye was entirely out of the question. Now, by some miraculous event or maybe by some freak of nature, Billy's pressed up against Harrington. If not knowing anything gets him these little moments with Steve Harrington, then maybe ignorance really is bliss.


	2. Chapter 2

Being this close to Steve Harrington hurts him. It physically hurts him. He can almost feel his heart beating so quickly that it just bursts out of his chest in a wave of sadness, if he pictures it just right. For a second, Billy lets the mental image overcome him, being the only thing in his thoughts for a few wavering moments. At least, he thinks it’s only a few moments.

The blood chokes him, coming out in dark crimson red splatters as it explodes out of Billy’s chest. He tries to speak but it comes out in strangled gasps, halted by the blood rushing up to his throat to prevent him from talking. Billy feels like crying at the sensation. There’s too much of it. Blood, that is.

If there was any hint of white left on his tank top, there isn’t any now. There’s new dark red stains spread out all over Billy’s casual attire. He wonders how they’ll look later. Hopefully they’ll dry up and become nothing more than dark brown stains that could be identified as anything other than blood on his white shirt. 

“Steve,” chokes out Billy. “Please.”

What exactly he’s pleading for, Billy doesn’t know. He just wants him. Needs him. Harrington is Billy’s personal drug, one that’s always just out of reach. He should probably be thankful that Harrington doesn’t just give in and give Billy what he wants. Then again, Harrington probably doesn’t even know how much Billy relies on him to live.

Truthfully speaking, there’s no saying what measures Billy would go to if there was no angelic Steve Harrington in this world to counteract Billy’s devilish actions. Harrington is not only Billy’s drug, he’s his lifeline. So maybe it makes sense that when Harrington bleeds, Billy bleeds. He feels the same pain as the other boy constantly, silently wishing that there was some way for him to alleviate Harrington’s pain, even if it meant risking his own.

Then Harrington looks at Billy and the look that he gives him is the complete opposite of anything that Harrington wants to see. His hair is so dirty that it’s been matted black and, even worse, there’s blood pouring from his eyes. It comes down in steady streams of red, threatening to drown Billy in a pool of blood if he reaches out to touch Harrington. Not that he can move, anyways. Suddenly, Billy’s frozen in place and the last thing he’s thinking about is moving to touch the other boy. 

“Billy,” rasps out Harrington. His eyes are sad, staring down Billy with an imminent feeling of despair closely approaching. “Wake up.”

“What?” Billy tries to mouth back, his voice all tied up by the strings of blood pooling at the back of his throat.

“Wake up,” Harrington repeats again, more urgently this time. The blood is still consistently streaming down his face.

It’s a nightmare. Billy knows that now. It’s not real. None of it’s real. Even his body pressed up so tightly against Harrington’s that it’s beginning to constrict his own breathing pattern in order to satisfy Harrington, it’s all an illusion created by Billy’s mind in order to make this fantasy fueled nightmare that Billy wants so desperately to get out of. At least, that’s the only logical explanation Billy can come up with to explain his current situation.

Frantically, Billy tries to open his eyes. He wants—no, he needs to. Billy can feel the real version of himself, the one that’s lying in bed, pressing his eyes tightly shut together and holding his tears in. His fists are clenched and he also registers the sudden violent thrashing of his body from side to side, instantly disrupting any image Billy had in his mind of him and Harrington sleeping together. Above him, Harrington stands over him like a concerned citizen. Of course he fucking is.

Any minute now, Harrington’s going to lean down and kiss him like Sleeping Beauty, Billy’s sure of it. He’s waiting for the dramatic punchline and a kiss from Prince Charming is nothing short of just that. With their relationship, there’s always some sort of dramatic punchline that Billy just can’t wait to draw out of the other boy.

Except, this time, the dramatic punchline is a slap to the face. Billy doesn’t expect it and the shock is clearly evident on his face when his eyes jolt wide open as he tenderly rubs the bright red imprint on the left side of his face.

“Holy shit,” panics Harrington, stepping back quickly and waving his arms to Billy in a surrendering motion.

“Harrington,” Billy says quietly, still reeling in shock from his nightmare.

“Jesus,” yelps Harrington. “I mean, Billy, wow. What the hell, man? I thought you were going to fucking die or something,” he laughs nervously.

To begin with, Billy has no idea why Harrington would think that. He was having a nightmare, not a seizure. This only confirms his suspicions that Harrington’s an over-thinker. 

Secondly, Billy can’t get over the way that Harrington has just casually said his name for the third time now, counting the dream sequence from earlier. If he wasn’t still trying to calm down, Billy is sure that he would’ve died on the spot at the mention of his name coming from Steve Harrington’s pretty mouth. It’s almost enough to make him forget about the brutal attack on his face.

“Billy, wow,” mimics Billy, ignoring the flash of pain that falls over Harrington’s face at the snide remark. “How about, ‘What the fuck, Harrington?’” 

Billy makes it a point to rub the diminishing red mark on his face cartoonishly. Harrington shakes his head at the sight and Billy swears that he’s berating himself at what he’s done. He assumes that he’s correct because he sees Harrington opening his mouth again to say sorry. Billy isn’t sure that he can take another ‘sorry’ coming from Pretty Boy’s mouth. So instead, Billy reaches his other hand out to shush Harrington. For some reason, it works.

“It’s okay,” Billy says softly.

Coming from Billy, the soft voice sounds awkward and out of place. He can only recall himself using it once in recent years—it happened the day before he and Max came to Indiana. Tearfully, he explained why they were really moving.

Neil had shoved him against the wall a few moments prior, threatening to expose his dirty little secret to the entire town before they left if he didn’t fix himself. Billy knew it was an empty threat. His father wouldn’t want anyone else knowing his son was a faggot. Even worse was the fact that Neil Hargrove had a faggot son who was so unloveable that he had one night stands with bi-curious boys on the beach whenever possible. Still, he didn’t want Max to find out before he could tell her himself. They had never had the closest relationship but the thought of Max finding out his only major secret from his abusive father shook him to the very core.

When Neil took Max’s mother to their last dinner date in the city after promptly composing himself, Billy took that as an invitation to tell Max what he feared his father would.

“Billy, what the hell?” Max had asked when Billy entered her room in what seemed to be a rageful fit, slamming the door behind him loudly. 

She soon realized it wasn’t a fit of rage but, rather, a mental breakdown. He was shaking in between fearful sobs and everything he said was unintelligible. 

“He caught me,” Billy said back, slowly punctuating each syllable. Max was able to understand that but she couldn’t quite piece it together yet.

“And? He’s caught you with other girls before,” she pressed.

Her older brother wanted to make sure he worded his confession carefully. Though simple enough in getting the point across, he didn’t want to just outright come and say that he was gay. Nor did he want to admit his “flaming homosexuality” as his father described it with a bunch of overdone stereotypes. That wasn’t his style and, though he knew it would peak her interest for a moment or two at most, he knew it would soon disinterest Max. Not that she would disregard him entirely but a display of his sexuality portrayed like that would probably just cause his little sister to play the whole thing off as a joke.

That was the last thing Billy needed. It wasn’t a joke. Nothing about this was a joke and he needed her to understand that this was bigger than some simple confession. Max knew that Neil was abusive, mostly towards Billy, but she had no idea to what extent his intolerance of his so cleverly nicknamed “fucking faggots” reached. At this point, Billy wasn’t even sure that there was a capacity point for Neil’s blatant homophobia.

Whenever Neil felt threatened or disgusted by something he saw on the streets, he resolved to using his fists quite often to solve the problem. Usually, it was against defenseless boys on the street. Sometimes, he came across men that might be able to match his sober strength on the streets. In these cases, Neil usually just hurled an insult or two at whoever was bothering him and spit on the ground.

If only Billy could be so fortunate to have the pleasure of his father merely attacking him with words versus weapons. Because sometimes, Neil felt that his fists weren’t enough. His favorite weapon of choice nowadays seemed to be his recently downed beer bottles, the glass narrowly missing the sensitive parts of Billy’s body by some miracle. To his dismay though, not only did Billy have to endure the attack, he also had to clean up the glass afterwards.

This time, Billy had neglected to do so, choosing to leave the small parts of glass hidden under the shaggy carpet. He noticed Neil grimacing when he was able to pick up on the crunching sound that it made when Max’s mother walked over it.

“Billy,” snapped Max.

“Sorry,” Billy sniffled, reverting back to reality. He didn’t want to say it but each moment that passed was another moment that went by where he could hear his father calling him a fucking faggot, a fucking disgrace to the family, a fucking failure, a fucking disappointment. “Max. He caught me with a boy.”

Billy drew out the words carefully, almost like he was afraid that they would slip and Max wouldn’t catch them falling if he wasn’t careful enough. To his relief, she caught them.

“Oh. Oh,” Max said as the realization dawned upon her. “Do you not like girls anymore?”

The older boy furrowed his eyebrows tightly together like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him that boys could like boys and girls. It wasn’t a stupid question, he got that. It just surprised him, that was all. The tears had stopped coming, all that was left was a slightly puzzled look on Billy Harrington’s face.

“No,” Billy settled on saying with a soft voice that he didn’t remember ever using before in his life. It made Max scrunch up her nose in adoration for her brother finally using some form of affection towards her. “I just like boys.”

And the confession had been as easy as that. It had been an equally easy thing for Max to accept. She shrugged when he asked her why she was being so cool about all of it and merely replied that a couple of her friends were the same way or, at least, in the same community. Plus, she explained, not that he needed to know, but she herself liked both boys and girls. 

That was a harder thing for Billy to accept. Not that he didn’t agree or anything like that. It just meant that he had to keep a careful eye from afar on everyone that Max spent time with now, it seemed. Billy didn’t act like it much, but he enjoyed being Max’s older brother.

After that, neither one of them spoke about the mutual bonding experience over their sexualities. Billy never brought it up again and neither did Max. Maybe the refusal to bring it up again was part of why they had drifted apart so quickly upon their arrival to the middle of nowhere. Billy no longer had to keep an eye on everyone Max spent time with when they arrived to Indiana, reluctant to give up his pretend role of “big brother” but understanding why he had to give it up, nonetheless.

“...I don’t know why I feel that way but I do,” Harrington finishes saying and Billy suddenly feels really bad that he’s been so lost in his thoughts that he’s been neglecting to hear what Harrington’s been saying to him this entire time. He really hopes that he hasn’t missed some long, drawn out love confession towards him or something. 

“I feel that way too?” Billy tries weakly.

Harrington laughs. It’s not a direct, in your face laugh but it makes Billy want to shrivel up inside himself. Again, Harrington’s the only one who has ever made him feel this way, like he doesn’t ultimately have all the control in the world. And Billy even knows that, if he really threatened Harrington, he would do anything that he asked him to. But Billy doesn’t want that kind of power. He wants the kind of power where Harrington will do anything he asks because he wants to, not because he’s being threatened to.

“I said that I would rather have Hopper here, alive, even if it meant you were dead and that’s what you have to say?”

Oh. Billy can’t breathe, he thinks. Though he’s not really thinking much of anything right now. It makes sense, especially coming from Pretty Boy’s mouth but still. 

Billy didn’t even know that Hopper was dead, presumably because of something that he had done. And he knew that Harrington hated him but, again, he didn’t know the hatred ran that deep. He thought the hatred was a healing wound, not a freshly infected cut.

The world is spinning around Billy. Before, he wasn’t really having a seizure but he wouldn’t be surprised if this triggers his second ever seizure. Except, he’s pretty sure that you have to be alive to have a seizure and Billy is feeling the opposite of alive.

Billy’s still lying in bed, completely still except for the now frantic heaving of his chest up and down. His arms are dead weight by his sides and the same goes for the rest of his body: dead weight. Billy shuts his eyes closed tightly, thinking that he’ll be able to forget that this even happened if he closes them hard enough. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Harrington would ever feel any sort of attraction towards him but he was stupid enough to think that Harrington might be able to build some sort of awkward friendship with him, someday.

“Shit,” curses Harrington in the same way that he always does when a situation has gone horribly wrong. If there’s one thing that Billy remembers vividly from Starcourt, it is the way Harrington said that exact same word in the exact same way that he’s saying it right now.

Harrington reaches forward to place a soothing hand on Billy’s shoulder but Billy instantly opens his eyes like a panicked wild animal in response. He’s still not moving but his body language tells Harrington to back off.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Harrington says gently instead.

And of course he didn’t mean it like that. He’s Harrington and Steve Harrington is never outright mean except for that one time with Jonathan Byers and that one time with Billy Hargrove (not this time). But Billy’s mind still can’t help going to all the wrong places, though he knows they’re all illogical thoughts to be having. It’s a bad habit of his. He might just be an over-thinker himself, joining the club of over-thinkers with Pretty Boy.

“It’s not true,” Harrington says, softer this time, his eyes lowering to meet Billy’s panicked ones. “I’m glad you’re here. Really, I am. I just miss him, mainly on behalf of the kids,” he says, like Billy knows who he’s talking about, “but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Like, dude. I’m happy that you’re alive, Billy.”

That’s a sentence Billy never thought he’d hear. Hearing his name and the word ‘happy’ coming from Harrington’s mouth makes his heart soar in ways he didn’t even know was possible.

Billy also seriously thinks he should start questioning why Harrington keeps saying his name like they’re old buddies. Then again, he doesn’t want him to stop saying it out of awkwardness. He really hopes that Harrington’s not lying to him and he suspects that he’s being told the truth when Harrington flashes him a shy smile at Billy’s return to normalcy. 

Billy finally sits up for the first time in Harrington’s house—in Steve Harrington’s bed, nonetheless. His arms sit still in front of him, his left hand dangling slightly off the edge of the bed. Steve takes this as his cue to join Billy in sitting down. In response, Billy pats Steve’s thigh lightly like it was part of his plan to invite him to sit down the whole time. He’s almost scared of Steve’s reaction but Steve merely smiles back.

Then, like he’s Nancy fucking Wheeler, Steve reaches over and touches Billy’s left hand with his own. Not only that, but he starts running circles over Billy’s thumb with his own like they’re dating or something. It makes Billy all sorts of guilty for whatever reason but it also makes him feel giddy inside, the way he imagines Max feels when she hangs out with Lucas. And maybe he doesn’t mind being Nancy fucking Wheeler if it results in moments like these.

Billy doesn’t want to reach over and start making out with Steve like he’s a horny teenager that hasn’t gotten some in forever. Well, he does. He really wants to feel what it’s like to have Steve’s face pressed up against his. 

Then again, maybe it’s better to take things slow. So Billy decides that it’s okay to leave Steve’s face alone for now and just stay like this, sitting on the bed with Steve’s hand on his. And maybe for Steve, it’s just a friendly thing—a comforting reassurance. Billy can live with that. He thinks he can live with anything Steve does if it means he gets to hang out with Steve like this.

“I’m Nancy fucking Wheeler,” Billy says boldly in reference to their hands on the bed, voicing his thoughts aloud.

For a second, he fears he’s gone too far when Steve’s hands disappear from his. Maybe this is the one line he can’t cross. Then Steve starts giggling. Like, actually giggling. It’s really cute, especially when Steve’s hand reclaims him again.

In one brief second that Billy barely even has time to register, a moment that goes by so fast that he would’ve missed it if he moved away for just a second, Steve leans into him. Billy hopes there’s an imprint of Steve’s body on his now. He’s so far gone for this boy that, at the moment, nothing else really matters. Even Starcourt is out of the picture. Steve doesn’t know it yet and maybe he never will, but Billy is sure of one thing. Billy Hargrove is in love with Steve Harrington.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re telling me that I defeated some, what, fucking Antichrist?” Billy’s in disbelief at the mere thought and, honestly, Steve can’t really blame him.

Still, he doesn’t neglect to correct him at what he thinks is a pretty obvious mistake. “Billy, we went over this. It was the Mind Flayer, not the Antichrist.”

Billy laughs like Steve’s just told him a really good joke, one he won’t forget for a long time. Truth be told, he would rather have this all be one long running joke. If only things could just go back to normal.

“Right,” Billy feels compelled to say when Steve looks at him like he’s eagerly waiting for the other boy to respond. “The Mind Flayer. Jesus Christ, Harrington. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

For a long time, Billy just sits there on the couch rubbing his temples. With all of the different terms Steve was throwing at him, Billy barely had any time to catch every single one—let alone any time to let the blow of each catch sink in. He vaguely remembers Steve mentioning the Mind Flayer and whatever the hell “Demogorgons” are. Still, Steve doesn’t really expect him to have this all down after two hours of listening to him blabber on about what happened leading up to Starcourt, right?

That alone had been a huge pain in the ass. During the “recovery process” as Pretty Boy called it, Billy wasn’t allowed to see anyone else but Steve for two weeks. This was, of course, due to the fact that Billy wasn’t allowed to leave the house. And no one even came over, anyways. Not Max, not her friends and certainly not Steve’s parents. Though, Steve himself said that this wasn’t a surprise. His parents were never home.

In fact, Steve grew to enjoy the other boy’s company quite a lot in the absence of everyone else. He rarely left the house except for a couple quick grocery runs during Billy’s recovery weeks. In Billy’s opinion, Steve was really only getting groceries to fuel his ever increasing hunger. Plus, Steve was the one eating most of the food rather quickly. Billy always felt like he was eating leftovers even though Steve often insisted that this wasn’t really the case.

Nonetheless, it had taken quite a bit from Billy in order to convince Steve to tell him what had happened—the full extent of everything, whether it was good for him to hear or not. Even though the two boys spent the majority of their time doing nothing productive, aimlessly wasting their time around the house, Billy still found that Steve was incredibly difficult when it came to cracking his faux outer shell. Eventually, after a week and a half, Billy was able to crack Steve. He was incredibly happy when this happened, seeing as their two weeks together was nearing an indefinite end and Billy was really starting to want some answers.

So Steve had simply told him, “Sit down, Billy. Wait, you might want to grab a snack or two before you sit down. And some water. This story’s a doozy.”

Billy couldn’t believe that some people under the age of sixty still used the word doozy. Then again, Steve used a lot of words that Billy had only ever heard coming from his grandparent’s ears. It did kind of make sense that Steve played a motherly figure to Max and her friends, Billy figured, if he was talking like this all the time.

Patiently enough, not wanting to waste too much time focusing on Steve’s use of words, Billy sat down with a glass of water and pretzels in his hand. Then he just listened to Steve recalling the story of he had gotten involved in this whole Mind Flayer mess and what the Eleven girl had to do with everything, all while pacing nervously back and forth through the living room.

“You never told me why you’re the one babysitting me, though,” Billy comments when Steve neglects to respond to his self correction from earlier about the Mind Flayer.

“Why I’m—What?” asks Steve, looking genuinely confused. “Billy, I’m not babysitting you.”

Steve’s doing that thing now where he furrows his brows together when he’s a mixture of irritated and sad. He pinches his right forefinger and thumb together and pins them atop the bridge of his nose in visible confusion. Then he starts blushing like some fucking schoolgirl. It’s kind of cute, in Billy’s opinion, though he’d never voice that specific thought aloud.

“Oh. Wait, I get what you mean. You’re asking me why you’re at my house being watched over by me instead of, like, your sister, right?”

Billy aggressively nods his head ‘yes’ because, like, duh. What else would he have meant that by that statement? He swears that Steve over-thinks more than anybody else that he knows.

Really though, it’s okay. Billy would be okay with Steve over-thinking everything if it meant Steve would laugh after finally having his ‘aha!’ moment like he is right now. Billy is so okay with that. He loves the way Steve laughs, like he’s figured out the game-winning phrase on Wheel of Fortune or spelled the game-winning word correctly in the fifth grade spelling bee.

“I kind of wanted to be the one,” Steve awkwardly admits, scratching his head nervously in the process.

Billy scoffs. “Because no one else wanted to? Right, you don’t have to lie to me.”

Steve frowns again, though this time he looks more sad for Billy than he looks confused for himself. When he sits down right next to Billy (though there’s plenty of room on the couch), Steve looks defeated. The final sigh he lets out when he sits down completes the look of defeat.

The slightly taller boy finally turns towards Billy and leans over to ruffle his hair slightly. Again, Billy doesn’t think he’d let anyone get away with doing that without getting pummeled to the ground immediately after. But when Steve does it, Billy finds himself melting into the touch, smiling contently. As small of a gesture as it is, it really does make Billy happy. The first time that Steve did it, it had confused Billy but he also noticed how he was unwilling to take Steve’s hand away from him when Steve kept his hand stuck at the top of Billy’s head.

Over the past week or so, Steve had grown brave in the number of times and places he was touching Billy. Nothing was overtly sexual in the way Billy had often wished it was. More or less, Steve found himself giving soft little touches to Billy’s facial region and, every so often, his hair. He could visibly see it calming down Billy every time that he did it so he saw no reason to quit doing it.

“Billy,” starts out Steve like a tired parent. Billy’s starting to grow concerned at the way Steve’s manner borders on parental behavior most of the time. “Max wanted to keep you.”

Sometimes Billy feels like he’s being treated like a dog or some other household pet. It doesn’t bother him too much and Steve never means it in a derogatory manner—it merely makes Billy laugh at the thought. Still, he finds it hard to believe that his sister actually wanted to “keep” him above everyone else.

“There’s no way,” Billy defiantly says, crossing his arms and turning from Steve. 

He’s acting like a pouty child now and he’s expecting that Steve’s going to start yelling at him like his dad does every time that he does something bratty—any minute now. The yelling never comes though. Instead, Steve reaches forward and places a gentle hand on Billy’s shoulder to turn him around. Reluctantly, Billy decides to go with the movement of Steve’s arm and turns around. That way, he’s not resisting the movement like he usually does with everyone else.

“She really wanted to, Billy.”

Billy’s grown accustomed to the way his name rolls so easily off Steve’s tongue now. He quite enjoys it, actually.

Steve hesitates before talking again, averting his gaze. “She told me about what Neil does, though.”

It feels like a long forgotten reflex but Billy instantly turns away. He feels like he wants to puke. Nobody knows about Neil but his own family. Except for Steve, now it seems. On top of that, what the fuck? Sure, Billy and Max didn’t have the most cordial relationship as their time in Hawkins progressed but still. Out of all their shared secrets, Neil was the one they had silently vowed to keep between them for as long they as lived.

“He doesn’t do nothin’ that I don’t deserve,” Billy returns gruffly. 

He didn’t know to what extent Steve knew about Neil’s abuse and he figured this was response was vague enough that it would satisfy whatever Steve knew about Neil. It didn’t.

“Billy!” Steve almost shouts the other boy’s name. “You don’t deserve to,” he looks around the house and lowers his voice even though nobody else is around, “be hurt.”

It was odd, that certain phrase coming from Steve’s mouth to comfort Billy. After all, Billy had almost beaten Steve to a pulp earlier in the school year. He had to admit that, if his little sister hadn’t gotten up the courage to drug him, Billy probably would’ve killed Steve. He was so consumed with rage at that point, so angry at the fact that Steve would presumably be filled with disgust if he ever confessed his feelings for him, that he had been willing to kill him in order to take all of that worry away.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Pretty Boy. The only thing you have to worry about is the fact that your mommy and daddy are never home. Quit worrying about me.”

Steve looks hurt at the firm accusation, lowering his eyes to avoid meeting Billy’s again. Billy knows he’s struck a nerve by talking about the one subject that Steve never brings up, the one that’s been looming over both of their heads since Billy’s arrival to the Harrington household. He had brought it up once last week and made a mental note to never bring it up again when Steve said ‘they love me, they mean well.’ Billy had only asked where Harrington’s parents were.

“I’m sorry,” Billy tries but Steve cuts him off before he can say anything more.

“Yeah, sorry for worrying and bringing you here instead because I didn’t want you going back there.”

Dumb things tumble out of Billy’s mouth often and he hates seeing the repercussions of his actions written all over Steve’s face. It took Billy a while to recognize the fact that sometimes his words hurt Harrington more than his actions did. After he realized that halfway through the school year, Billy had stopped attacking Steve verbally. 

Even now, Billy still remembered the way that Steve had visibly shuddered when he had clapped him on the back in the showers and remarked that “there were plenty of other bitches in the sea”. Steve had still been hurting from the Wheeler chick breaking up with him, though the realization didn’t hit Billy until much later.

“Harrington,” Billy says, but he quickly corrects himself with a gentle, “Steve.”

That makes Steve finally perk up, bringing his attention to Billy. In the two weeks that Billy’s been with solely Steve, he hasn’t said his first name once. Thinking back on it, it’s an odd thing to realize, especially seeing as there was no one else in the house for Billy to address. Steve had grown to calling Billy by his first name every day, only resorting to snapping at him once and resorting back to old habits when he caught him trying to start the second car outside after he came back from a grocery run.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” laments Billy.

“You shouldn’t have,” agrees Steve but he places a hand on Billy’s shoulder anyways as a sign of forgiveness.

It hurts Billy to see how easily his boy forgives him. Not that Steve’s really his boy but in moments like these, where Steve lets his hand linger on Billy’s shoulder and Billy stays quiet, all while feeling his breath catch in the back of his throat, it sure feels like it. Most times, Billy just silently waits for Steve to take his hand away without returning any sort of affection. 

For some reason though, this time, it feels different. This is all unknown territory to Billy. He never talks about feelings, much less feelings about Neil. So Billy places his own hand on Steve’s, trying to let some of the strength he gets from touching Steve show itself in his following words.

“I don’t want to go back there,” chokes out Billy like the words have been hiding in the pit of his stomach for the entirety of his life. 

When he says this, Billy feels himself gripping Steve’s hand a little tighter. Steve doesn’t object. Actually, he takes the opportunity to take his thumb and start rubbing it over Billy’s thumb in a comforting motion. Every time that he does this, Billy swears that his heart starts fluttering right out of his chest.

In times like these, Steve doesn’t have to say anything. All he has to do is just be there, living and breathing in front of Billy for him to start visibly calming down. But he says something anyways.

“Baby, I know,” Steve says like a fucking moron.

Jesus, he has no idea what saying that does to Billy’s insides. The accidental pet name makes his insides turn to jelly and he can’t breathe again, though this time it’s in a good way. Billy knows that Steve is blushing heavily at the accidental slip of the tongue but maybe it’s okay because Billy is blushing a little bit too.

Truth be told, Billy’s never been called that before by anyone. Well, he might’ve been called it once or twice by meaningless flings back in California. But that was different. He doesn’t remember the names of any of his one night stands back in California except for the one that resulted in the move to Hawkins, Indiana. The rest of them meant nothing to him. Back in California, Billy Hargrove didn’t “do” relationships.

Here in the middle of nowhere, Billy still feels the same way. Except for Steve Harrington. Steve, with his perfectly perfect looks, seems to be the only exception for a lot of things in Billy’s book. Billy’s already broken a lot of unspoken rules just by being here, with Steve, in such an intimate manner. 

Nonetheless, it’s only been two weeks with Pretty Boy. Billy wants nothing more than to kiss Steve until they forget all about his slip up. But even that, he thinks, is a little too much for them only having just become friends. For now, Billy figures that he can settle for the little touches that they share and, every now and then, some slips of the tongue.

Out of everything he’s ever not known before in his life, friendship is probably the most uncharted territory in Billy’s life. If he needed to, he could most likely fake a relationship with pitiful feelings and lots of sex to make up for the emotional part of it all. Then again, nothing with Steve is ever as simple as “just being friends” or anything further than that. Billy has to take everything step by step, measuring every action he takes against Steve cautiously to see how he reacts to it.

“Can we talk about this later?” Billy asks, hoping that he doesn’t sound too needy.

Billy leans in, just a little bit, and takes his hand out to touch Steve’s face softly. His fingernails have since been cleaned up, polished and trimmed since Starcourt because, in Steve’s words, “Boys need to have pretty nails too!” He lets the edge of his fingernails trace the curve of Steve’s jawbone, almost like he’s afraid to break Steve if he digs his nails into his skin too much.

“Sure,” Steve lets out meekly, not bothering to conceal the fact that he’s melting into Billy’s touch.

Very slowly, Billy draws his hand back from Steve’s increasingly pink face. In a direct contrast to that motion, he quickly leans in just a bit closer to plant a sly kiss on Steve’s forehead before heading to their now shared room.

“Woah, what the hell, Hargrove?” Steve exclaims and Billy stops dead in his tracks, afraid that Steve’s going to beat him up now. “Where are you going, Billy?”

Steve doesn’t even bring up the slightly wet imprint of Billy’s lips on his forehead. Billy’s glad. Whether Steve took it as a bromance kiss or something more, Billy’s just glad that Steve’s not making too big of a deal out of it like Billy himself obviously is doing in his head. 

Billy just rolls his eyes and smirks back at Steve, who blushes even more in response. “The bedroom, Harrington. Care to join me?”

Steve’s fiercely blushing in response now. Billy wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and holds his hand out for Steve to take. Without giving him enough time to make a decision, Billy pouts and drops his hand to his side. This, the friendly banter between the two of them, was something that Billy admittedly missed.

“Another time then, babe,” mocks Billy.

“Shut the hell up, Billy,” Steve giggles, clearly mortified.

Before he has time to respond, Steve grabs a pillow from the couch and hurls it at his unsuspecting victim. Billy merely shrieks with laughter upon impact, though he tries to dodge it.

“Fuck you,” chuckles Billy over his shoulder as he continues to head to the room.

“Another time, babe,” says Steve, daring Billy with his reply.

Billy’s counterpart doesn’t miss the growing blush on Billy’s cheeks when he exits the room. Steve Harrington could get used to this. He wishes it was forever—this unspoken mutual agreement to stay friendly with each other. Whether he wants to admit or not, Steve thinks he actually likes Billy having around. Maybe things would be different in another life.

“If we were cats,” Steve calls out.

“If we were what now?” Billy yells back from the bedroom. 

It takes a while but Steve hears a shuffle of feet and the bedroom door sliding open. Then he sees Billy, poking out his head from the opening of the bedroom door to see what Steve has to say. Steve almost feels embarrassed to say anything now but he goes through with it anyways.

“Maybe in another life, things would be different, if we were both cats.”

Steve feels incredibly dumb saying it. But Billy, for one, thinks it’s the most profound thing to have come from Steve’s mouth during his stay at Steve’s house over the past two weeks. 

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, laughing a little bit, though not unkindly. “Yeah. Damn. If only we were both cats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i went camping and had so much time to write and update a story that felt unfinished. so much. pls tell me someone peeped the vanilla sky reference at the end tho...

**Author's Note:**

> hey don't feel pressured to leave a kudos or a nice comment buuuuut it would be appreciated!


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